The Kissing Curve: The Delirium Remix
by Mad Server
Summary: There's a ghost... and a fever... and a... what was the first thing?  And a FEVER.  Remix of The Kissing Curve by wave obscura.


Title: The Kissing Curve (the Delirium remix)  
Author: Mad Server  
Characters: Dean, Sam, OCs  
Genre/pairing: Gen  
Rating: T  
Word-count: 1500  
Spoilers: Not so much.  
Warnings: You really, really might enjoy your life more if you read the original before you try to read this, because the original is amazing and because then you won't read this thinking, "Whaaaat?" Because I sort of failed at making this stand alone. A lot.  
Original story: The Kissing Curve by wave obscura  
A/N: I had so much help on this one, like so much help. Wave obscura answered niggly questions. Hanson's Angel helped me out with hospital logistics. Enkidu07 gave me imaginary banana chips. Onefulloctave overcame school and work and work and school to give me carefully considered beta lovin'. Pdragon76 surmounted night shift craziness to give me tons and tons of food for thought. The remaining unclarities are alllll mine.  
Summary: There's a ghost... and a fever... and a... what was the first thing? And a FEVER.  
Disclaimer: I own this even less than usual.

:::

"I've got him."

The words sound deep and smoky and sexy. There's a hand patting his waist, a warm arm slung behind his neck.

He peels his eyes open on a broad, sturdy face. He knows her name... Jamie? They're on their asses on the floor, propped side by side against the chimney in the middle of the cavernous room. She's frowning at something off where he can't see. He marvels at the bright blue eye shadow up to her brows, the jut of her cheekbones.

She notices him and leans just far enough to make eye contact, squeezes his side. "Hey you."

Cool fingers thread through his hair.

"Jamie, we'll be right back."

Sam. Dean twists toward his voice, but there's only an open door, rain blustering through. He wants his brother, but the light is catching each individual raindrop as it rushes across the room and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Careful," she calls. She rubs Dean's collarbone, tucks him close against her toasty body. He watches the flecks of water blowing past and snuffles her perfume.

When he remembers about Sam's leg, the only protest he can manage is to cough.

:::

"Mr. Beckett?"

Dean inhales sharply, snaps bleary eyes to the nurse. He scuffles upright on the scratchy couch. "Mm?"

"I'm sorry. You were sleeping."

"No." His voice gives out. He remembers the regulation paper face mask around his neck, shoves it into place and tries again. "No, I was, uh. Linda, right?" Dean rubs his tight forehead, glances past her at Sam's bed. "How is he?"

She looks over her shoulder, nods. "He's doing fine. How are you?"

"Me?" Behind the paper barrier, something drips onto his upper lip. He tries to sniff it back up through his blocked nose. "Fine."

Her scrubs are pink. She's kind of cute.

"I thought maybe you could use a pillow."

He gives a violent shiver, explodes into helpless coughs.

"And a blanket." She moves forward and lays them next to him on the sofa. "And I got Dr. Kenner to write you a scrip for some cold meds."

Dean wheezes out a sigh. "Oh, thank god." He takes the blister pack from her hand, careful not to touch her. "Linda, I could kiss you."

:::

He has no idea how long he's been walking.

There's nothing out here but water, mud, spindly bushes and the dark. No teddy bear. No building where the teddy bear's supposed to be.

Something wet tries to escape from his lungs. He leans hard on his shovel in the pelting rain and spits at the pockmarked puddles. The mud sucks on his boots like it's hungry.

His face feels very hot.

Could the mud be hungry?

He's drifting a cautious hand toward his gun when headlights blind him.

:::

Dean's keys are bunched up in Kevin's fist, but Kevin's not going to get the Impala and get all their asses out of there, like he said he would. Instead he's crouched on the muddy floor, leaning in close to Jamie.

Kevin's lips puff out expectantly. His belly presses into her knee, cardigan straining away from its two buttons.

Chest aching, cheek mashed into Sam's shoulder, Dean watches Jamie hesitate, sees her throat crease as she inches back. The wind picks up outside, flaps the shingles against the roof.

:::

"That was one classy hospital."

"Yeah." Sam sounds dreamy in the backseat.

"The service. The accommodation."

"'Sgood."

Dean surveys the empty highway. The trees along the shoulder are turning gold. "They fed me, dude."

"Feeding's like horses."

The laugh catches in Dean's chest, crackles with phlegm. "The drugs."

:::

"Did I pour salt and gasoline on the teddy bear and light it on fire?"

The girl seems surprised. "Um. Yes."

"Good." He shifts closer to Sam's sleeping form on the dusty floorboards, then sneezes violently. As he sneezes he flashes on the inside of his lungs, contracting like empty plastic bags from the grocery store. He watches them expand again with new air, all tinted red like sunlight through eyelids.

A palm passes in front of his eyes. He blinks, tracks it back to the girl.

"Dean," she says. "You don't look so good."

Dean pushes shaky fingers across his forehead. He peers up at the couple, tries to place them.

"Do you remember us? I'm Jamie, and this is Kevin. We found you on the road outside."

:::

"Keep your leg up." Leaning in through the open car door, Dean stuffs his box of tapes under Sam's cast. "Leave the engine running. You're sick, Sammy, you shouldn't be here."

"But I'm not here." Sam claws at Dean's sleeve. "Dean."

"It's OK. Look. Got your pansy-ass music." Dean clicks it on. "Got the heater. Got your phone. Got your Glock." Rain pounds his back, sticks his jeans to his legs. He nudges up Sam's pant leg, fishes a Sharpie out of the glove box. The marker squeaks as he traces a protective pentagram on Sam's cast, just over his ankle. "There. Safe and sound. I'll be back before you know it."

"Deeeean."

"What?"

Sam coughs openly, his hair haloed out against the rain-streaked window. "I love you."

:::

"He's really sick."

Sam sounds scared. Dean wants to ask who he's talking about, but his tongue might be a fish.

:::

The storm is blustering in through a hole in the roof, and then it's not.

Dean pants into the muddy floor. He can't look up because his head is spinning.

Sam's voice booms out above him. "What ever happened to that kid, Andrew?"

"What?" Jamie's boot twitches when she speaks. It leaves a nauseating afterimage. Dean shuts his eyes and rests his forehead on Sam's cool cast.

"He killed Emily, right? Back in the day? He killed the teddy bear girl when she wouldn't do the nasty with him?" There's a low groan coming from everywhere at the same time. "What happened to him after?"

"He disappeared."

"Shit. Dean." Fingers tighten around Dean's biceps, jiggle him. The moan is getting louder. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up. "You gotta wake up, man. It was never Emily. It was Andrew. The ghost that's been picking off the local Casanovas. It's Andrew."

:::

"Son of a bitch," Dean says, and plasters his mouth to Kevin's. Rain pelts his skull, stings his face. He waits for Andrew's spirit to murder him, hopes Kevin catches his cold.

Nothing.

He opens his eyes. The specter is crackling, dissolving in brightness. Across the lot, flames off the pile of bones light up Jamie's startled face.

Dean dumps the pasty man in the mud and turns to Sam, dizzy all of a sudden. He crawls to him on trembling limbs.

He has no medicine for his brother, no car, no umbrella. He squeezes him tight, buries his face in his hair and promises him a steak the size of his head.

:::

_"You sound like crap."_

"And you're as charming as ever, Bobby." Dean hovers a hand by his face, nose tingling with an impending sneeze.

_"How long you had that cough?"_

"Long e... enough to be tired of talking about ihh... _hh- h'GHKTsh!"_

_"God bless."_

"Bless you." Sam frowns at him from the driver's seat.

Dean scowls, wipes his palm on his jeans. "Is there an echo in here?"

_"Look, kid, I hate to ask, but there's a salt-and-burn out in your neck of the woods. Nothin' fancy. I was hopin' you boys could take care of it once you finished up your other gig."_

"Hell, you know us." Dean feels Sam's wary gaze on him. "Suckers for punishment."

:::

Cross-legged next to Dean on the damp wood floor, Jamie grimaces around a sip of beer. "Ugh. I don't know how Kevin drinks this."

"This is the part where you tell me our lives don't suck and we're heroes."

She looks up, her dark hair frizzed halfway dry, cheeks flushed from the beer. She shrugs. "Sounds pretty sucky to me."

Dean snorts and raises his can to her.

:::

His phone. He left it in the car. Sammy's been out in that storm this whole time, laid up with both their phones. Anything could have happened.

He pats his pockets, stubs his fingers on his belt. He pulls things out. Nothing feels like a cell.

He skims over the gritty floorboards with his palm, grunts in frustration.

"Hey, hey." A giant hand travels up and down his back. "Just breathe, OK?"

Dean squints up. Rain falls toward him but never hits. Twigs and leaves swirl silently above the open roof. Sam's eyes on him are warm and sure.

Sam glances up at the hole, then back down to Dean. "Ghosts do some crazy crap, huh?"

Dean sighs into his brother's chest and coughs forever.

:::

end


End file.
